P  S 

3503 

R721 

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1916 

MAIN 


THE  GRAVEDIGGER 


BY    FRED    EMERSON    BROOKS 


. 


IN  MEM0R1AM 

Albin  Putzker__ 


9  v 


By 

FRED  EMERSON  BROOKS 


Printed  at 

EAST  AURORA,  N.  Y 
MCMXVI 


COPYRIGHTED,   1916 

BY 

GEORGE  H.  MAINES 
FLINT,   MICHIGAN 


& 


lie     rataebiitgcr 


5701^0 


URORA'S  steeds  the  darkness  put  to  flight: 

Her,  golden  arrows  shoot  athwart  the  dawn, 

To  rouse  the  laggard  tenants  of  the  night. 

With  rosy  fingers  tipped  with  morning  light 

She  plucks  the  dewdrops  from  the  jeweled  lawn 

« 

II 

HE  swallow  dips  unto  the  pebbled  stream 

That  runs  away  some  purpose  to  fulfil: 
To  tempt  the  poet's  song,  the  painter's  dream, 
Some  barren  patch  of  nature  to  redeem, 

Assuage  the  meadow's  thirst  or  turn  a  mill. 


IND  Nature  solves  her  riddle  on  her  scroll; 

Who  solves  the  riddle  of  the  m.an?  asked  I: 
What  is  eternal  life  and  what  the  goal 
Of  spirit  radium  we  call  the  soul? 

I  sought  among  the  dead  to  get  reply. 

IV 

FOUND  a  digger  spading  out  a  hole ; 

"  What  enterprise?  "  I  asked.  He  doffed  his  hat 
And  then  to  help  his  brain  he  scratched  his  poll: 
"A  grave  I  dig  for  some  departed  soul 

left  his  carcass  here,"  and  then  he  spat. 


V 


IS  not  for  sympathy  I  dig,  but  pay; 

The  dirt  's  thrown  in  upon  the  selfsame  terms; 
Let  common  corpses  molder  how  they  may, 
He  was  embalmed  to  last  till  Judgment-  Day 

To  please  his  friends  and  disappoint  the  worms. 

VI 

UT  yesterday  a  millionaire  I  'm  told  ; 

A  winding-sheet  for  all  his  hoarded  gains; 
At  last  he  knows  what  truth  the  Scriptures  hold; 
Now  penniless,  his  heirs  have  all  the  gold 

Except  the  trifle  paid  me  for  my  pains. 


VII 

N  taking  toll,  he  overtook  his  share 

And  found  what  profit  lies  in  hoarding  pelf; 

Deemed  arrogance  a  substitute  for  prayer; 

He  left  to  others  all  his  treasures  rare 

And  took  away  the  counterfeit  himself. 

VIII 

'M  landlord  here ;  my  guests  give  little  care ; 

They  pay  no  rent,  nor  grumble  in  their  bed, 
Nor  envy  others  for  the  robes  they  wear, 
All  crimes  of  greed  and  selfishness  forswear — 

They  dwell  in  harmony — because  they  're  dead. 


IX 


HERE  lies  a  man  who  lived  to  feast  and  revel: 
Each  drunken  night  offset  the  sober  day- 
Base  appetites  bring  all  to  that  same  level — 
Brave  in  his  cup,s  he  oft  would  toast  the  Devil, 
Who  now  is  toasting  him  the  debt  to  pay. 

X 

IS  poverty  of  mind  that  drives  the  soul 

To  seek  oblivion  with  all  senses  mute, 
Deaf,  dumb  and  blind  beside  the  toper's  bowl; 
Proclaim  himself  as  void  of  self-control; 

God  gave  to  man  and  yet  denied  the  brute. 


XI 

ERE  lies  a  man  of  toil  at  his  repose, 

His  half  a  century  in  labor  spent. 
Small  recompense  for  what  he  undergoes, 
Since  all  he  got  was  meager  food  and  clothes 
And  somewhat  over  for  the  landlord's  rent. 

XII 

F  all  would  work,  no  toiler  need  despair; 

Trails  punishment  hard  after  every  fault; 
An  idle  man  makes  some  one  do  his  share; 
But  few  may  profit  by  another's  prayer 

Or  hide  life's  blunders  in  a  marble  vault. 


XIII 

OME  worship  still  the  calf  of  molten  gold, 

Counting  themselves  much  better  than  their  kind; 
Whereas  they  differ  but  in  this,  I  'm  told: 
The  poor  at  death  take  with  them  all  they  hold — 
The  rich  must  leave  their  arrogance  behind ! 


XIV 

UT  there  sleeps  one  who  was  unjust  in  trade ; 

To  cheat  the  future  was  his  last  concern. 
As  rogues  grow  honest  when  the  bargain's  made, 
He  would  by  gift  all  penalties  evade— 

Endowed  a  church  in  hope  he  would  not  burn. 


XV 


HE  boasting  fool  proclaims  there  is  no  God  ; 

Yet  bows  to  Death,  by  whom  no  choice  is  made 
'Twixt  those  who  wear  the  crown  or  bear  the  hod  ; 
The  sexton  laughs  and  flings  on  him  a  clod 

Who  scorns  the  hope  that  lies  beyond  the  spade. 

XVI 

HEN  Nature  frowns,  the  earth  and  sky  turn  black; 

Mad  lightnings  rip  the  angry  clouds  to  shreds; 
The  oath  of  Storm  King  thunders  in  their  track: 
But  out  of  silence  strides  the  seismic  wrack 

That  breaks  the  ribs  of  mountains  where  it  treads. 


XVII 

[EN  smiling  Nature  tints  the  sunset  sky; 

Her  benediction  spreads  on  land  and  sea; 
Clouds  dipt  in  wine  are  hung  up  there  to  dry 
As  weather -telling  flags  that  prophesy 

A  bright  and  rosy  day  shall  dawn  for  thee. 

XVIII 

SOLDIER  lies  in  yonder  nameless  mound; 

He  took  up  arms  for  love  of  native  land; 
Remembrance  died  of  some  stray  bullet-wound 
And  left  him  searching  loved  one,  never  found; 

For  whom  he  sought  no  one  could  understand. 


XIX 


HE  savage  shot  his  arrow  at  the  plow  — 

All  savage  tribes  the  plowman  put  to  rout  — 

But  wars  and  armies  grow  more  savage  now; 

Nor  will  the  slaughter  cease  till  humans  vow 

Those  planning  war,  alone,  shall  fight  it  out. 

XX 

O  leaf  has  grown  in  vain  whose  grateful  shade 
Falls  on  a  sleeping  babe,"  the  sexton  said. 
"All  things  have  purpose,  every  man  his  trade, 
The  soldier  carries  arms  —  I  bear  the  spade; 

Death  lulls  to  sleep  those  I  must  put  to  bed. 


XXI 


HE  tomb  of  Hurry  stands  across  the  way; 

To  others  master — to  himself  a  slave; 
Nor  God's  command  to  rest  would  he  obey; 
By  crowding  much  into  each  single  day 

He  shortened  much  his  journey  to  the  grave. 

XXII 

N  yonder  vault  is  housed  the  man  of  Greed; 

Ambition  gave  him  wealth,  but  left  him  cold ; 
His  wife's  caress  he  took  with  scanty  heed; 
His  rival  now,  with  more  indulgent  creed, 

Has  all  the  love,  the  widow  and  the  gold. 


HEN  woman  loves,  she  breathes  a  single  prayer, 
Asking  no  more  than  love  to  match  her  own; 
No  sweeter  incense  has  the  world  to  spare, 
But  oh,  the  chill  when  she  becomes  aware 

Her  Altar  's  nothing  but  a  polished  stone. 

XXIV 

ULL  half  the  good  in  life  we  overrun, 

As  dogs,  with  greedy  haste,  gulp  down  their  food; 
How  oft  a  youth,  by  vapid  stranger  won, 
O'erlooks  a  lassie  gentle  as  a  nun — 

A  neighboring  Venus  'neath  a  gingham  hood. 


XXV 


OW  many  wake  from  their  Elysian  dream 

To  find  love's  garden  overgrown  with  weeds. 
A  constant  level  makes  a  sluggish  stream, 
While  dashing  waters  catch  the  rainbow's  gleam 
To  paint  the  trout  with  freckles  while  he  feeds. 

XXVI 

PRETTY  face  with  shining  aureole 

And  eyes  that  lure  as  does  the  siren  sea 

Draws  many  a  man  upon  a  barren  shoal; 

But  woman's  love  lifts  high  a  human  soul 
And  brims  his  cup  with  wine  of  Ecstacy. 


HE  soul  that  glows  from  out  a  woman's  eyes 

Who  loves,  and  loves  as  only  woman  can, 
Is  proof  there  is  another  paradise : 
A  soul  so  great  must  live  beyond  the  skies 

That  can  with  love  redeem  a  worthless  man. 

XXVIII 

* 

ERE  I  the  guard  of  yonder  pearly  gate 

I  'd  still  be  kind  to  all  these  patrons  human 
And  overlook  their  frailties  small  or  great — 
Save  his  who  had  been  brutal  to  his  mate 
Or  faithless  to  a  love -devoted  woman. 


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XXIX 

OW  slowly  grow  the  virtues  of  the  wise, 

While  evil  springs  without  a  single  care; 
How  fiercely  man  will  struggle  for  a  prize 
That  seldom  falls — and  never  satisfies— 

When  Heaven  itself  were  his  for  just  a  prayer. 

XXX 

OME  paths  have  roses,  others  have  the  thorn; 

Some  mount  the  rocks  that  border  on  the  sea; 
Some  lead  through  desert- sand  as  if  in  scorn 
Of  vine-clad  valleys  rich  with  fruit  and  corn — 

And  yet  all  reach  the  same  eternity. 


XXXI 

LL  vices  banquet  at  the  flowing  bowl, 

But  virtue  never  chants  the  ribald  song. 

Desires  are  steeds  lashed  to  the  chariot  pole; 

Let  Reason  drive  lest  we  should  lose  control, 

For  hands  get  weaker  white  the  steeds  grow  strong, 

XXXII 

LEASURES  are  false  that  bring  repentant  pain: 

The  soaring  hawk,  however  swift  he  fly, 
Can  not  outstrip  his  shadow  on  the  plain — 
That  low-flung  specter  follows  till  the  twain 
Alight  together  on  the  crag  hard  by. 


XXXIII 

F  gilded  sin  and  common  sin  would  tell 

The  crimes  which  bear  the  brand  of  overdrinking, 
Who  'd  make  a  thing  or  have  it  here  to  sell — 
The  price  of  which  and  breath  of  which  is  hell? 

The  truth  would  set  the  careless  world  a-thinking. 

XXXIV 

[E  Power  that  made  the  world  created  man, 

With  mind  to  choose  betwixt  the  good  and  ill; 
The  body  dies,  the  spirit  never  can. 
Then  why  should  mortal  question  Heaven's  plan? 
Since  God  is  God — and  was — and  ever  will! 


XXXV 


E  may  not  even  locate  Heaven  aright — 

For  up  is  from  the  earth  that  constant  turns; 

Then  up  is  opposite  or  day  or  night; 

If  Heaven  be  up  it  must  surround  us  quite, 
With  no  location  for  the  place  that  burns. 

XXXVI 

HY  doubt  that  which  we  can  not  understand? 

We  can  not  comprehend  the  things  that  be: 
The  ant  upon  the  barren  desert  land 
Believes  the  world  is  flat  and  made  of  sand, 

Because,  forsooth,  it  never  saw  the  sea. 


XXXVII 

E  may  not  measure  time  without  a  clock — 

How  can  we  comprehend  eternity? 
As  well  dip  out  the  ocean  with  a  crock, 
Or  hurl  below  the  fragment  of  a  rock 

To  fill  the  countless  fathoms  of  the  sea. 

XXXVIII 

HIS  monster  world  was  made  to  swing  in  air 

By  that  Electric  Will  that  bids  it  go. 
The  Skeptic  knows,  when  reason  plays  him  fair, 
Those  countless  myriad  planets  everywhere 
Are  moved  by  some  Celestial  Dynamo. 


XXXIX 

F  Chance  could  fashion  but  a  little  flower 

With  dainty  perfume  for  each  fairy  thief, 
And  furnish  it  with  sunshine  and  with  shower, 
Then  Chance  would  be  creator  with  the  power 
To  build  another  world  for  unbelief. 

XL 

HOUGH  none  the  Comet's  mission  comprehend, 

Those  blazing,  spirit  orbs  we  plainly  see: 
As  though  a  loving  God  would  constant  send 
Fleet  messengers,  whose  journeys  never  end, 
'Twixt  earth  and  yonder  vast  Eternity. 


XLI 


SKEPTIC  oft  the  Heavenly  power  denies 

And  hurls  the  scoffer's  wineglass  to  the  floor; 
The  truth  still  lives — but  there  the  scoffer  lies. 
The  fire  is  out  and  ashes  are  his  eyes  ; 

His  mouth  is  shut — and  I  have  closed  the  door. 

XLII 

F  everything  in  Heaven's  great  mystery 

Were  well  explained,  we  could  not  understand: 
We  did  not  recognize  the  Deity 
Ev'n  though  He  came  a- walking  on  1he  sea: 

We  doubted  once  the  nail-prints  in  his  hand. 


ARTHER  than  figures  mathematic  show 

There  speed  the  ever-flying  Pleiades ; 
In  orbit  vaster  than  the  mind  may  know: 
In  that  Far  Heaven  no  human  thought  can  go, 
And  yet  the  eye  of  every  mortal  sees! 

XLIV 

ND  if  we  told  the  children  God  lived  where 

The  Pleiads  swing  so  far  beyond  the  moon, 
They  would  believe  and  thither  lift  their  prayer — 
So  strive  to  live  that  Death  would  take  them  there- 
Since  faith  was  ever  childhood's  blessed  boon. 


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XLV 

OW  bright  the  gems  that  crown  night's  atmosphere, 

Self -lighted  airships  poising  there  on  high, 
Till  like  a  shooting-star  descending  sheer 
They  volplane  swiftly  to  our  whirling  sphere 
To  bear  some  waiting  spirit  to  the  sky. 

XLVI 

T  moon's  command,  old  ocean  ebbs  and  flows, 
By  skill  of  man  are  continents  cut  through  ; 
Sun,  earth  and  moon  their  awful  power  oppose, 
And  yet  it  needs  them  all  to  make  the  rose 
That  blushes  fragrance  to  a  drop  of  dew. 


XLVII 


AN  dives  the  sea  and  soars  the  azure  sky; 

Marvels  of  enginery  his  brain  may  plan ; 
Yet  all  achievements,  when  he  comes  to  die, 
Win  naught  of  favor  in  the  Master's  eye 

If  he  on  earth  love  not  his  fellowman. 

XLVIII 

AR  more  is  gained  by  kindness  than  by  strife; 

How  few  who  know  the  worth  of  little  deeds ; 
Life's  battles  are  not  won  with  drum  and  fife; 
A  smile  may  change  the  trend  of  human  life ; 

And  gifts  are  measured  ever  by  their  needs. 


XLIX 

HAT  well-worn  path  where  many  children  go, 

Leads  to  the  spot  where  Optimist  was  lain; 
The  sunny  life  that  kept  his  face  aglow 
Gave  him  a  taste  of  Heaven  here  below 

And  set  these  pretty  cherubs  in  his  train. 


IN  yon  far  corner  sleeps  a  Pessimist; 
No  mourners  come  but  his  neglected  deeds ; 
He  sowed  no  grain  and  likewise  ground  no  grist; 
Through  finding  fault,  the  good  in  life  he  missed; 
No  flowers  for  him  save  from  the  pitying  weeds. 


LI 


HE  mortal  boasts  his  strength  of  brawn  and  brain; 

His  wireless  wonders  earth  and  ocean  span; 
Outsoars  an  eagle  in  his  aeroplane; 
Hurls  armies  forth  to  ply  the  craft  of  Cain— 

And  yet  the  tiny  microbe  kills  the  man. 

LII 

HY  should  a  mortal  grumble  at  his  fate? 

Knows  he  the  schooling  that  his  nature  needs? 
When  tutored  well  he  struts  among  the  great, 
But  left  untaught,  how  simple  is  his  state- 
Not  wiser  than  the  brute  the  pasture  feeds. 


LIII 


O  save  us  from  our  self-indulgent  will— 

Although  we  fret  and  grumble  at  our  lot- 
Kind  Nature  throttles  us  and  makes  us  ill; 
Puts  us  to  bed  with  powder,  draught  and  pill, 

And  ofttimes  saves  our  lives  when  we  would  not. 

LIV 

ET  Sorrow  play  physician  to  the  mind- 
Without  its  grief  there  's  little  to  life's  story; 

Gold  comes  by  fire  and  is  by  fire  refined; 

The  freshened  rose  calls  not  the  storm  unkind; 

It  needs  the  clouds  to  catch  the  sunset's  glory. 


LV 

IME  is  the  tapestry  where  mortals  weave 

Life-pictures  in  an  endless  caravan; 
Though  much  unlike  designs  they  first  conceive, 
One  golden  glow  all  somber  spots  relieve — 

The  Master  Weaver's — "Peace!  Good-will  to  man!  ' 

LVI 

OW  blest  the  feet  that  tread  in  righteous  ways! 

How  blest  the  heart  that  loves  and  knows  not  guile, 
The  hand  that  's  helpful  and  the  lip  that  prays — 
The  eye  that  shall  behold  with  raptured  gaze 

The  benediction  of  the  Master's  smile. 


LVII 


E  come  into  the  world  and  know  it  not; 

We  live  in  faith  until  we  learn  to  doubt; 
We  use  our  brain  to  gather,  scheme  and  plot; 
At  last,  with  enmity  and  greed  forgot, 

Come  back  to  childish  faith — and  then  go  out. 

LVIII 

HE  burning  taper  doth  the  wax  consume, 

Which,  like  our  bodies,  serves  its  purpose  well; 
The  more  the  flame,  the  faster  flows  the  rheum — 
But  there  's  no  burning  more  beyond  the  tomb— 
We  snuff  it  out  to  cover  up  the  smell. 


LIX 

HE  fool  hath  said,  'The  future  is  in  doubt— 

I  '11  have  my  fling  in  revels  while  alive!  ' 
He  learns  before  the  present 's  half  worn  out, 
Grim  Retribution  rides  the  selfsame  route, 

Where  all  may  pity  him,  but  few  may  shrive. 

LX 

ATURE  supplies  a  stimulus  within 

If  we  would  bid  our  sluggish  senses  wake; 
Why  should  we  live  to  feast  and  stuff  the  skin 
And  boasting  flirt  with  more  indulgent  sin? 

The  brute  gives  answer  with  far  less  at  stake. 


LXI 

OD  made  the  birds  and  melody  took  wing: 

Its  perfume  tells  who  made  the  matchless  rose. 

Our  words,  like  bees,  bear  honey  or  a  sting; 

Our  lives  give  echo  to  the  songs  we  sing — 

A  decent  conscience  fears  no  future  woes. 

LXII 

UR  worries  kill  more  than  the  storms  at  sea; 

They  kneel  beside  us  when  we  are  at  prayer. 
Oh,  what  a  world  to  live  in  this  would  be 
But  for  the  cost — not  e'en  the  grave  is  free; 

Eternal  debt  will  find  us  even  there. 


LXIII 


ON  Cynic  held  religion  obsolete— 

Perhaps  he  changed  his  mind  when  Death  was  near- 
He  differed  from  his  Maker  by  conceit; 
Gaunt  sophistry  ate  from  his  heart  the  meat; 

His  autopsy  showed  little  but  a  sneer. 

LXIV 

UT  there  sleeps  one  who  mourned  a  world  of  sin 

But  overlooked  his  own — thus  it  befell 
Saint  Peter  could  not  rightly  let  him  in, 
But  gently  bade  him  take  his  parchment  skin 

Where  his  asbestos  face  might  serve  him  well. 


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LXV 

UR  humblest  grave  is  yonder  quiet  plot, 

Where  lie  the  ashes  of  old  Parson  Good; 

He  lived  for  others  and  himself  forgot; 

But  little  deeds,  on  earth  remembered  not, 

In  Heaven  count  most — so  /  have  understood. 

LXVI 

HE  best  of  many  creeds,  a  mother's  prayer; 

No  grip  of  sin  would  hold  if  memory 
Would  lead  us  often  to  the  old  armchair; 
Life  holds  no  treasured  picture  to  compare 

With  children  bowing  at  the  Mother's  knee. 


LXVI1 


OW  pompously  conceited  men  debate 

On  what  is  best  to  do  with  womankind; 
Assuming  to  be  monarchs  of  her  fate 
When  Heaven  created  her  to  be  the  mate- 
As  wise,  as  good — and  quite  as  much  refined. 

LXVIII 

N  all  things,  woman  more  than  does  her  share 
And  hers  should  be  one-half  the  revenue: 
Her  husband,  home  and  children  all  her  care- 
Not  till  she  takes  that  last  long  thoroughfare 

Can  one  perceive  how  much  had  been  her  due, 


LXIX 


IVINELY  formed!  God's  masterpiece  art  thou; 

Beyond  the  painter's  skill,  the  sculptor's  dream; 
Fair  as  the  sun-glow  on  the  mountain's  brow; 
Man's  lure  and  guide  from  Eden's  blush  till  now 

And  in  life's  drama  still  the  roseate  theme. 

LXX 

ITH  precious  gems  are  woman's  charms  arrayed, 

Yet  is  her  haloed  love  a  choicer  boon 
Than  all  the  jewels  dug  from  earth's  dark  shade, 
Like  star-bits  fallen  when  the  heavens  were  made 

Or  sculptor's  chips  dropped  from  the  chiseled  moon. 


LXXI 

AKE  Gender  out  of  morals,  women  cry; 

Have  men  bring  us  the  virtues  they  demand. 
Set  Decency  in  court  the  man  to  try 
With  that  same  law  they  judge  the  woman  by — 

Let  man  be  pure  or  wear  the  scarlet  brand. 

LXXII 

MAN  with  worthless,  balky  horse,  alas, 

Will  trade  him  off  or  shoot  him  for  his  hide ; 
Why  not  a  woman,  mated  with  an  ass, 
Trade  off  the  beast  or  turn  him  out  to  grass — 
And  mark  the  saving  on  the  profit  side? 


LXXIII 


ITH  secret  thoughts  and  deeds  writ  on  the  face, 

How  few  would  venture  out  save  in  a  fog ; 
If  dogs  were  fashioned  from  the  human  race 
We  'd  have  to  borrow  many  a  winsome  grace 
Of  trust  and  faithfulness — or  spoil  the  dog. 

LXXIV 

KINDLY  thought  is  more  than  half  a  prayer; 
Each  smile  begets  another  smile  for  you; 
A  kiss  will  oft  a  breaking  heart  repair, 
Erase  a  wrinkle  from  the  brow  of  care, 

Or  plant  a  rose  where  roses  are  but  few. 


OVE  is  the  source  of  all — keeps  Heaven  alight 

Where  golfers  drive  the  stars  in  midnight  play, 
Like  meteors  athwart  the  links  of  night, 
While  angels  trail  their  filmy  robes  in  flight 

To  make  night's  mystery — the  Milky  Way. 

LXXVI 

HROUGH  senseless  fear  is  Death  so  much  maligned! 

Those  who  have  met  him  made  no  great  ado — 
Nor  to  return  have  ever  been  inclined; 
The  open  door  he  deftly  hides  behind, 

And  none  has  shown  a  fear  while  passing  through. 


LXXVII 

UR  drowsy  nerves  can  no  sensation  feel; 

We  know  not  when  we  sleep  nor  when  we  die! 
From  out  this  tenement  the  soul  will  steal 
Nor  shut  the  door  its  absence  to  conceal, 

Nor  stop  to  close  the  shutters  of  the  eye. 

LXXVIII 

'OM  seeming  Death  have  myriads  returned, 

Yet  not  a  single  pang  did  any  feel: 
The  phantom  barge  from  which  they  half-discerned 
The  Holy  Citadel,  for  which  they  yearned, 

Had  borne  them  hence  had  Death  but  pushed 


LXXIX 


RIM  Death,  stern  mariner  of  worlds  to  come, 
Hath  mortal  never  kindly  word  for  thee? 

Shall  not  the  blind,  the  ailing  and  the  dumb 

Pay  unto  thee  their  first  encomium 

For  passage  to  the  shores  of  Ecstacy? 

LXXX 

E  build  a  house  with  matter  we  call  what 

By  using  force  from  whence  we  can  not  show; 
By  some  strange  motive  of  the  mind  begot, 
We  dig  a  grave  in  which  our  bodies  rot — 
Philosophy  beyond  this  can  not  go. 


LXXXI 

IFE  in  minute  electrons  doth  begin; 

Eternity  is  only  Time  set  free ; 
Philosophy  's  a  garment  far  too  thin 
To  wrap  a  dying  mortal's  conscience  in! 

We  're  safer  with  the  Man  of  Galilee. 

LXXXII 

LOVE  all  these  confided  to  my  keep 
As  mortals  lodging  at  a  sacred  inn; 

To  dust  their  bodies  changing  while  they  sleep; 

May  not  their  evil  sink  into  the  deep 

And  earth  absorb  the  odor  of  the  sin? 


LXXXIII 


HEIR  very  silence  seems  an  endless  plea; 

Think  you  that  Mercy  never  listens  now? 
Behind  Creation  stands  the  Deity 
With  Hope  raised  high  for  all  mankind  to  see 

God's  love  redeem  the  world  on  Olive's  brow. 

LXXXIV 

PON  the  cross  the  thief  repentant  cries; 

The  shortest  and  the  soonest  answered  prayer- 
'  O  Lord  remember  me!  '  The  Lord  replies, 
'  Today  thou  'It  be  with  me  in  Paradise!  ' 

Which  takes  away  from  mortals  all  despair. 


LXXXV 

OR  one  who  digs  at  graves,  you  seem  well  bred— 

Whence  comes  this  wisdom?  meaning  no  offense! 
"  From  these  I  learn!  "  the  quaint  gravedigger  said, 
"  They  're  bound  to  tell  the  truth  to  me  when  dead, 
And  wisdom  after  all  is  common  sense! " 

LXXXVI 

HUS  in  the  sexton's  words  the  truth  I  read: 
The  love  of  God  is  round  about  us  all 

Leaving  no  path  for  Doubt  or  Fear  to  tread; 

'T  was  man  that  sinned,  but  it  was  God  who  bled— 
And  Heaven's  pardon  far  exceeds  the  fall. 


SO  HERE  THEN  ENDETH  THAT  POETICAL  PREACHMENT 


AS  FAITHFULLY  SET  DOWN  BY  FRED  EMERSON  BROOKS,  AND  DONE  INTO 

A  PRINTED  BOOK  BY  THE  ROYCROFTERS 

AT  THEIR  SHOP,  THIS  YEAR 

OF  OUR  LORD 

MCMXVI 


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